


rest your arms (and rest your legs)

by shadowdance



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 00:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowdance/pseuds/shadowdance
Summary: Link doesn't sleep at night.





	rest your arms (and rest your legs)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "Slow it Down" by the Lumineers.

Link doesn’t sleep at night.

Not inside the stables. Not in a bed. Not at a campfire. Instead, he stays awake, one hand on the hilt of his sword, sitting as close to Zelda as he can.

Zelda is tired. She hasn’t slept in 100 years, and she feels that—the aching exhaustion nestled in her bones, tucked under her shoulder blades. She feels like _she_ could sleep for another century, but she couldn’t do that now. She and Link have been separated for more than 100 years. She doesn’t ever want to leave him again.

But she can’t sleep, not with Link wide awake. So she sits up and says, “Link, you really ought to sleep.”

Link glances at her. His eyes crinkle kindly, but he shakes his head. It is said that he talks a lot now—all the travelers they’ve seen know Link, tried to carry on long conversations with him. But Link hasn’t spoken that much in front of her, and when he has, it’s never above a whisper, as though he’s afraid to use his voice around her.

“Link.” Zelda rolls her eyes at him, half out of exasperation, half out of affection. “You have not slept at _all_ since we defeated Calamity Ganon. I think you have earned yourself a rest.”

Link smiles at her softly. It’s been 100 years but Zelda still remembers that smile, has it memorized in her heart. “You deserve it more,” he tells her almost shyly, the words barely a wisp of a breath.

Zelda tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve slept long enough. Come now, Link. I know you are tired.”

He shakes his head again. The orange light from the fire catches the curve of his jaw, glowing against his skin. Indeed, he doesn’t look exhausted, but Zelda knows how hard it is to play hero. She knows Link has traveled all around Hyrule alone, mending the tiniest problems that appeared while she was trapped in the castle. She knows Link has suffered, perhaps more than he did in the past. His skin is a latticework of scars, old and new, but Zelda cannot tell where the old ones end and the new ones begin. The Shrine of Resurrection healed him, yes, but no type of healing could wipe away the remnants of a war.

Zelda’s fingers trace over the scars on Link’s hands—his hands are nothing but fault lines of battles, of injuries. She thinks about the Shrine of Resurrection and asks, “Do you have bad dreams, Link?”

He blinks at her. Once, twice. He doesn’t say anything, but he grips Zelda’s hand with enough force that Zelda understands: without his memories, it was a dreamless fog. The more memories he collected, the more vivid his dreams became, and not all of them were necessarily good. Her shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry,” she says. She runs her thumb across the lines of his hands, feels the sharp ridges of his scars. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Link’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head quickly. He moves in closer, cups his hands around her cheeks. “Don’t be,” he murmurs. “Without the memories, I wouldn’t have remembered you.”

A lump lodges itself in Zelda’s throat. Link’s hands are warm, and she can feel every callous on his palms, brushing against her skin. She likes it; it is a sign that he has not changed much—that he still fights with his sword, practices everyday.

But then a new thought occurs to her, and she lowers her gaze. _Don’t ask_ , she wills, but she is a scientist. She is curious, burning with questions, so she has to know. “Did you ever have dreams…in the Shrine?”

Link sighs softly—not because he’s irritated, but because he’s thinking. He has to recline slightly backwards to shake his head, and Zelda feels disappointment crash in her chest. But in hindsight, it makes sense—Link forgot everything in the shrine. There was nothing there for him to remember.

“I heard your voice,” he whispers. “I knew it was you. Does that count?”

Zelda takes a shaky breath. “Close enough,” she says, just as quiet, and he nods, moving backwards. His hands leave her cheeks, and she immediately misses the warmth of his touch. Quickly, she reaches out and grabs his hand again.

“Well,” she says, making her voice sound more formal, “since I woke you up, it is only fitting that I make you sleep again. I am still your Zelda, after all,” she adds mischievously. “Still your princess, and you are still my knight. And this is an order. I _command_ you to take a rest.” For effect, she folds her arms and juts her chin upwards, sticking her nose in the air. Link blinks, his lips parting, and Zelda wonders if she surprised him.

But then he _laughs_ , the sound melodious and sweet, almost like an ocarina. “You are still the same as ever,” he whispers, and Zelda’s cheeks warm, a smile crossing her face. She understands what he's saying: they may have tumbled into a new era, but they still have each other, still have that sense of familiarity.

“I won’t sleep until you will,” she tells him, and Link sighs good-naturedly. He surrenders quickly, quietly, the way he always does around her. He lays his head in her lap, and Zelda tenses in surprise, before relaxing slowly.

“Good night, Zelda,” Link says quietly. He closes his eyes, and Zelda runs her fingers through his hair lightly.

“Good night, Link,” she returns, and when she’s sure that he’s asleep, she adds, “Sweet dreams.”


End file.
